


Snippets In Time, Shared

by slightlyworriedhuman



Series: PT5D [4]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Autistic Five, Flashbacks, Hypersensitivity, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sibling Bonding, Unreliable Narrator, time loss, unreality
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-11-07 08:55:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17957486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slightlyworriedhuman/pseuds/slightlyworriedhuman
Summary: After the apocalypse is averted, Five still struggles with his mind and his memories. He's lucky his family is here for him in their own dysfunctional way.Or, how Five's family members offer comfort the best they can.





	1. Luther; or, Coffee and Snow

**Author's Note:**

> This will be a multi-chaptered work detailing interactions with each of his siblings in relation to his experiences with PTSD. Tags will be updated with each chapter. I hope you enjoy.
> 
> Apologies for any mistakes; my life is void of a beta reader.

The first time the snow came, he had fallen asleep in their father's old study, books surrounding him, clutching his copy of Vanya's book. He awoke to pitch black around him, the smell of old books permeating the air. His neck was pained, and after a moment, he identified the hard ridge pressing against his spine as one of the many hardcover books that were piled around him. With a soft groan, he pushed himself up, rolling his neck in a futile effort to rid himself of the stiffness that had settled in his bones overnight. After a moment of trying to see in the pitch black, he gave up and slowly rose, wincing as his back popped. His young bones handled the strain much easier than he had in his older body, but even they weren't impervious to the damage of books and a hardwood floor.

His first step forward led to him almost tripping over a pile of scattered books before him, and he swore loudly, barely catching himself on a bookshelf and saving himself from a bloody nose. Gripping the pine shelf and pushing himself upright, he paused, reassessing his situation. Maybe walking around in a cluttered room in the dark wasn't exactly the best idea. But what else was there to do?  He paused, thinking before his current state hit him. Coffee. He needed coffee. At the very least, he could jump to the kitchen and work from there; at least in there, he knew how to get to the damn light switch without face planting.

With a sigh, he released the pine shelving, and paused for a moment before adjusting his rumpled shirt. No good looking like he had just woken up… even if he just had. Reaching for his powers was as easy as breathing; in a moment, he could taste the familiar blue-ozone-static, and grabbed it easily, pulling it towards him as he stepped forward. In the blink of an eye, the shadowed study was gone, replaced by--

Warm light around him, the sound of a crackling fire. The smell of smoke replaced the smell of old pages, and his mind immediately blanked, a frisson of panic running through him, muscles unwittingly tensing. His eyes locked on the window, and outside, outside…

White flakes fell, sticking to the glass panes. There was nothing but black past the white specks, nighttime apparent past their patterns on the windows. Unbidden, his mind was thrown back into unpleasant memories, recollections of falling white surrounded by smoke and darkness filling his mind, the only sound for miles on end the sound of fire and crumbling infrastructure. His hands were shaking, and though he tried, he couldn't look away from the falling white that swirled past the windows. Smoke drowned out everything else, the bitter smell filling his nose, dancing across his tongue, infiltrating his lungs. Was he even breathing? It didn't feel like he was; it felt like he was drowning, stuck in a memory of a non-existent time, stuck back in the apocalypse. Ash had fallen like rain from the sky, the only moving remnants of a now still world, and the sound of crackling fire had been his only lullaby for years on end. It was impossible, he _knew_ it was, but all his startled, frantic mind could spit at him was that it had happened again, that his world was once again in flames.

Something heavy landed on his shoulder, and as if they had been unblocked, his lungs drew in a breath, quiet yet deep. “It's beautiful, huh?” Luther's voice, deep yet soft, filled the empty room. “Weird to get a snowstorm in spring, but it's nice.” Snow. Not ash, not flakes of burning homes. Just… snow. “I thought I'd build a fire… I think it's been a while since anyone used that old wood stove.” Another deep breath. In, out. Luther's hand remained on his shoulder, warm and still in comparison to Five's own trembling ones. “...You alright, Five?”

After a moment, Five took another deep breath, closing his eyes and nodding. “Yeah. I just… Yeah.” Beside him, Luther nodded, his whole body shifting with his movements. It was something Five had always noticed about his brother; even with his eyes closed, he could feel Luther’s movements in the space around him. Apparently, his new larger body simply amplified his movements even more than it had before.

“Want me to make coffee?” Five opened his eyes, looking up at Luther with a tight smile.

“That'd be nice. Thanks.” With a gentle squeeze of his shoulder, Luther released him, starting towards the kettle. Five remained where was for a moment before slowly walking to the table, pulling out a chair. As the water began to heat in the kettle, Luther pulled out a container of coffee grounds, and remarked, “I'm glad you decided to make us stock some decent coffee. Much better than the cheap crap we had before.” Five raised his eyebrows in surprise as he sat.

“Thought you weren't one for coffee.” Luther's shoulders rose and fell, ever-present coat shifting with his movements.

“I wasn't. This stuff is actually okay, though.” The kettle began to whistle, and Five closed his eyes again as Luther busied himself with picking out mugs. The kitchen was silent for a minute, and Five slowly let his head sink to rest on the table, fingers idly running over the raised lettering on Vanya's book beneath the table. Finally, a mug gently clicked on the table before him, and the bitter-rich scent of coffee drifted over him, pushing away the smell of the smoke. Mumbling his thanks, he raised his head, nodding at Luther as he picked up the mug and cautiously sipped it. Somehow, Luther was the only one who knew how to make coffee right in their family. His brother sat across from him, sipping from his own mug before gently setting it down on the table. The silence between them was, for once, not tense or charged with hostility, and Five found himself appreciating it despite the early time.

“You know what thought when I first saw the snow?” Five raised his eyebrows, not responding but silently giving his approval to continue. “When I first got to the moon. It was… It was so empty. And still. That's what really got me, you know? How still everything was. It was like I was living on a planet made entirely of glass. Just… so still. Lifeless. But I remember that when I first got there, all the dust was kicked up by the landing, you know? I mean, there's no wind up there. Nothing moves except what you make move. But when I first stepped out, and all the dust was swirling around…” He huffed out a small, dry laugh, something akin to bitter wistfulness on his face. “I thought it was snowing. How silly is that?” Five sipped his coffee, waiting until he was sure Luther was done.

“I don't think it's silly at all.” His brother looked up in surprise, before his face smoothed out into a wry smile.

“Thanks, Five.” He nodded again, letting his mug rest again on the table. Idly, his eyes drifted to the window again, and he saw that the snow was still blowing outside, even more fervently than before.

“You're right.”

“Huh?”

“What you said earlier.” Five nodded towards the window, where the very first rays of light of dawn were illuminating the swirling snow beyond what the dim light of the streetlights outside could. “It is beautiful.”


	2. Diego; or, Lidocaine and Wool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Diego tries his hand at helping Five, and actually does a pretty okay job at it. Surprising.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hypersensitive skin's a bitch, what can I say?   
> (Five is autistic, and this is an exploration of how autism and PTSD together can lead to some shitty situations. All this is based off of my own experiences.)

Sometimes, it felt like his skin was on fire, rough and dry from the smoke in the air. When he had been there, in the early years, everything had been burning; the entire earth had been aflame, with nothing to stop the raging inferno but the wild, unpredictable weather. All he had known for almost five years had been heat that cracked his lips and smoke that had leached the moisture from his body. He had been damaged from those years; both the psychological and physical effects had stuck with him. He suspected that had he not somehow ended up in his fresh, thirteen year old body, he would still be suffering from the effects of the smoke and heat on his skin and tissue. Now, though, all he had was the memories of his skin, cracking and raw and utterly ravaged by the new earth.

He sifted through the bathroom cabinet, shuddering as the fabric of his blazer scraped against his arms. His skin may have been healed now, but his skin had already always been hypersensitive, and that combined with the overpowering memories that lingered in his subconscious mind of the peculiar sensation of the world essentially turning him into a piece of smoked meat was enough to make everything regarding his skin uncomfortable, if not painful. Growling as he shut another cabinet, he climbed onto the marble counter to reach what was untouched above the mirror. Stupid short legs. A brief scavenge through the small cabinet yielded nothing that would possibly help soothe his discomfort, and he climbed down, gingerly placing his hands against the stone with an exaggerated effort not to let his legs scrape against the edge. Well, shit. He'd already searched through Allison's things, desperate for lotion. All of hers had been perfumed beyond what he could possibly handle, and he'd left her room feeling distinctly more floral than before. The fabric of his blazer wasn't exactly helping either; though it was made of a soft, flexible fabric, it was as if he could feel every thread tugging against his skin when he moved, scraping along his arms. His sweater vest wasn't much better; every breath disturbed it and dragged it up and down his torso and back. It felt like he was wearing sandpaper. He had already discarded his socks; anything tight had to go. 

With a groan of frustration, he squeezed his eyes shut, and when he opened them again, his surroundings had changed. Instead of his own painful grimace staring back at him from the mirror, he was gazing at the living room, disappointingly devoid of the maternal android he was searching for. 

“Five?” A hand clapped on his shoulder, and he yelled, flinching away from it and blinking across the room. Whipping his head around to look at who had just set his shoulder alight, he saw Diego, hand outstretched before the couch with a surprised expression replacing his usual frown. “Oh, holy shit--”

“Don't fucking touch me!” Five snapped, trying desperately not to writhe in discomfort. “Jesus!” Diego raised his hands placatingly as he turned to look at Five. He was aware of why, instead of reacting with his normal irritation, Diego was for once being level-headed. When they were younger, Diego had-- much to Five's chagrin-- been privy to one of his fits over his senses overwhelming him, specifically his much-too-sensitive skin. Hargreeves had blamed the hypersensitivity on exposure to the in betweens of space. Five had called bullshit, but never received an actual answer as to why. In the end, no matter what the cause, the outcome had been the same; Five had teleported to his room in a furious, distraught panic, almost writhing in agony from the scratchy wool Hargreeves had stuck him in, and then realized only after locking the door and collapsing against it that he had ended up in a very startled Diego's room. Ending up jumping to Diego's room had had the pleasant side effect of Diego standing up for him getting new clothes until Hargreeves had relented. However, it had also meant Diego had had to comfort him as he sobbed for almost a half hour before he finally felt he could move again. 

Diego stared at him cautiously, hands still in the air before him. A wild thought struck Five as he gazed defensively at his brother, facing him like a teller during a bank robbery:  _ Hands up or I'll cry at you! _ Much more intimidating than a gun, in his opinion. “You alright, Five?” He barked out a short laugh. 

“Alright? Yeah, I'm just  _ peachy _ , Diego, how about you?” He bounced slightly on the balls of his feet, the cool floor the only bearable contact with anything his body was having. Hmm. Would that work to help relieve the burning? Was it worth sacrificing his dignity?

Diego ignored his sarcasm, stepping around the couch. “You look like you're about to jump out of your skin, man, is there anything I can--?” Busy completely ignoring Diego, Five decided that yes, his dignity could go stuff itself, and steeled himself before taking of his blazer, wincing as the fabric pulled against his skin as if tiny hooks had been sewn in. Lowering himself to the floor, he laid face down on the cool wood, almost sighing in relief as his burning arms met polished cold. “...Uh.”

“If you've got something to say, say it and go.” His words were muffled by the floor, and he had the feeling that the threat was somewhat muted due to his position. After a moment of silence, he gave in, sighing. “If you want to help, be a doll and find Grace, would you?” Would she have anything better than lotion? The memory of an icy lidocaine cream that she had helped him use after a mission eons ago popped into his mind, and he could have wept with relief at the possibility.

“Huh?” 

“I need Grace. I thought she was here, but instead it was you. Therefore, you can help me by getting Grace.”

“...Oh.” Diego cleared his throat, and called out, “Mom!” Five suppressed a groan. Why hadn't he just done that from his room? She was programmed to hear calls for her from their hallway. The faint clicking of her heels against the stairs became audible moments later, and Five heard Diego approach him. 

“Yes, Diego?” Grace’s soft voice was audible over the sound of Diego sitting down, and Five breathed a sigh of relief that she was here. “Are you hurt, Five? The couch would be a lot more comfortable than the floor.” 

“What did you need, Five?” Diego murmured. Clearing his throat, Five raised his head slightly to make sure Grace could hear him properly. 

“Grace, do we still have any lidocaine cream? The cooling kind, please.”

“I believe we still have some stored away. Would you like me to fetch it?” 

“That would be lovely, dear. Thank you.” He turned his head to smile slightly at her. He had forgotten how much he really liked Grace before he travelled back; her soft voice reminded him of Delores's. 

“Of course. And please, call me Mom.” She smiled back at him and turned on her heel, starting towards the staircase again. He watched with faint surprise as she left. It was nice she was beginning to think for herself. Letting the side of his face rest back on the floor, he took in Diego's cocked eyebrow. 

“Lidocaine? Thought you needed lotion.”

“Eh. One might work, one definitely will. I'd rather have this shit be gone.”

“What shit?” Ah, dammit. Roped himself into a corner. 

“I, uh…” A soft sigh. Oh, what harm could it do? Maybe this way Diego would be able to get what was needed for him next time. “You remember that night I accidentally hopped into your room and locked us in, right?”

“Yeah, you were upset about the wool, right? Kept saying that it hurt.” Five hummed in agreement, remembering the scratchiness of the fabric. Sure had made finding suitable clothing in the apocalypse a pain in the… well, all over, really. 

“Yeah. Still get that sometimes.” Diego paused, confusion on his face. 

“But you're not wearing wool…” He rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, no shit. I mean my skin's still a pain in the ass, and when you pair that with skin problems from being hung to dry like smoked salmon for half a decade you get this shit.” Another pause.

“...Do you still have the problems even though you're a kid now?” Five almost opened his mouth to call him an idiot, but realized that his question, frustratingly, was sensible. He supposed he was at fault for being cagey about it, but he still wanted to yell in frustration.

“Well, my skin's repaired, but sometimes it still feels like I'm burning up, you know? I'll look at my skin, and there are no cracks or blisters or scars, but I can still feel… everything.” He shuddered slightly. “Cold helps. Lotion. Anything else is bad though. Even these goddamn clothes are like steel wool. I hate it.”

“So you need  _ lidocaine? _ ” Diego asked, disbelief colouring his words. “It's that bad?” 

“Jesus, use your brain, Diego. Would I be laying on the fucking floor if it wasn't this bad?” he snapped at his brother. 

“Fair point. ...Seriously, is there anything I can do? You look kinda pathetic.” Five groaned. 

“You can shut up and keep me company until Grace comes back, how about that?” Diego fell silent, and after a minute of blessed, awkward silence, Five closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to watch Diego fidget.

“...Mom.” Five raised his eyebrows at him, not opening his eyes. 

“Is she here?” He hadn’t heard her even footfalls on the floor, but maybe she had upgraded to a stealth mode. Something to train them to fight off intruders, who knew.

“No. She asked you to call her mom.”

“...Ah.” Diego always had been partial to her, and her to him. If she had been their actual mother, Five would have absolutely called her out on favouritism.

“I do know what you mean, kind of,” Diego murmured. At that, Five did open his eyes, watching Diego curiously. 

“How so?” Pausing, Diego opened his mouth, then closed it, rearranging himself so he was laying down on the floor beside Fic as opposed to sitting beside him. 

“You know how aside from the knives, I can hold my breath, right?” Five nodded. It had been deemed useless by Reginald, his ability to seemingly never breathe; Five had seen plenty of opportunity for it to be valuable, but for some reason, it had never really come up during their missions. Throwing knives was a tad more effective at stopping an enemy than holding your breath at them, he supposed. “When he was trying to research more, he, uh… left me in tanks. Water tanks, you know? He tested them at different temperatures, different pressures, all of that. Wanted to see how they affected me.” He scoffed. “Not sure why. I was holding my damn breath, not breathing the water like a fish. But… I remember being boiled and frozen. Grace had to take care of me after. The first time he did it, I couldn't touch anything other than my sheets and Grace for a day without crying. I think you were out on a mission with Luther. It…” Even laying down, Five could see the soft shudder run through his brother's body. “It was awful.” 

So that was why he had been so sympathetic to his plight all those years ago, why he had been so quick to help him now. It wasn't just sympathy; it was empathy. Diego knew. Different circumstances, yes, but still, the trauma was shared. 

They had both lived the hell of burning. 

Soft clicking sounded on the poor, and seconds later, Grace's honeyed voice called to them. “Five! I have the lidocaine, dear. Do you need any assistance using it?” With a resigned groan, Five pushed himself up, all but hissing as his disgustingly tender skin hit the exterior of his sweater. 

“I've got it, G-- Mom. Thank you.” It felt odd to call her Mom, seeing how much younger she was than him now, but she simply nodded.

“Alright. If you need help, just call for me.” Five began to extend his hand for the tub of cream, but Diego beat him to it.

“I'll help him if he needs it. Thanks, Mom.” Five didn't miss how she beamed at him, but he was surprised when the same sweet smile turned in his direction. 

“I'll go make some cookies.” With a final, lingering look at the both of them, she turned on her heel and began to walk away, perfect gait tapping like a metronome against the wood. They watched her leave, waiting for her to turn the corner before Diego turned to Five.

“Are you sure you don’t need help?” 

Five hesitated. “I, uh…” Diego huffed out a small laugh, humourless but affectionate in it's briefness.

“Lay back down, alright? It'll kinda suck no matter who does it, but I'll be gentle.” Pausing, Five finally nodded, silently grateful that he could just lay down without the fabric of his sweater vest bunching uncomfortably against his torso.

“Just don't go under my clothes, yeah? Touch there and you get to feel exactly how I feel right now.” Diego laughed again with actual humour this time.

“Believe me, I'd rather tell Luther to kiss me.” Satisfied, Five slowly laid back against the cool floor as Diego uncapped the container. 

“...Thank you, Diego.” 

“No problem.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is absolutely based off of my own experiences, both with hypersensitivity and PTSD. Wish I was exaggerating in this. Phantom sensations are terrible.  
> Hopefully more coming soon!


	3. Allison; or, Lost Time and Consciousness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's hard to cope with the loss of time when you don't even realize it's happening. Good thing Allison's there to help after it catches up to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time loss is a really hard thing to deal with. Sometimes it's like you've been doing something for three hours and you thought it was only ten minutes, sometimes you wake up on Thursday with no memory of Tuesday or Wednesday.

He was upset.

The last hour had been spent pacing his room, muttering to himself. Well, it had started as talking to Delores, but when he had realized again that she wasn't there, things had started to take a nosedive. Waking up with ants under your skin, itching for movement and action for something past, was enough to drive anyone up the wall; when it was paired with the fresh paranoia that the apocalypse might happen again, it led to hours of locking oneself away and attempting to focus on the issue. Five was learning this the hard way. However, the time he'd spent trying to figure out what was going on didn't help at all; neither did trying to rewrite the calculations scrawled all over his walls. Writing equations had devolved to ranting to Delores had devolved to furious pacing, accompanied by trying to talk himself down from whatever was going on.

And okay, maybe he should have sat down when he felt his world beginning to spin. He'd just attributed it to dizziness from pacing back and forth in his small space. The fact that he hadn't eaten or drank anything helpfully avoided his thoughts. However, the lack of any nutrients since yesterday morning (he'd gotten caught up in a personal affair and hadn't had time to grab dinner before collapsing in his bed) was bound to catch up with him in some way. He barely had any time to register the sudden realization that his legs were giving out before the floor was rushing up at him. A dull thud, muffled in his ears as if through thick cotton, sounded as he hit the cool floor, and the last thing he saw before static overtook his vision was the clock on his desk.  _ Oh dear, I missed lunch again. _

-

Something was prodding him, shaking him gently. His side ached. Muffled noises, as if from a long distance. He'd had worse pain, sure, but he felt horribly off, malaise creeping through his body. Why had he not felt this before? 

Why was he on the floor again?

“Five?” The muffled noise twisted itself hesitantly into a discernible voice, still far away but somewhat understandable. Struggling to respond, to move, blink,  _ anything _ , he finally mumbled an unintelligible sound, tongue feeling like a brick in his mouth. Hmm. That wouldn’t do. Another nudge moved him, and he groaned. “Five? C'mon, buddy, gotta wake up.” The voice was closer now, and after a moment, he recognized it as Allison's. Her hand was shaking his shoulder— thankfully the one that wasn't aching— gently. Finally, with no small amount of effort, he managed to crack his eyes open, and was greeted by the sight of Allison's face above him, concern evident. 

“Nngh.” Relief flooded her expression and she sat back, hair brushing against his nose as her head dipped in a sigh. 

“Oh thank god, I thought I was going to have to call one of the others to help.” Laboriously, he forced himself to move, sluggishly curling up until he was in a somewhat sitting position. Allison placed a hand on his back to help; though he didn’t want the touch, he was too out of it to shake it off. “Are you okay?”

It took him a moment to gather his wits, but he finally muttered, “What happened?”

“I was gonna ask you that. We don’t see you for three days, and out of nowhere, I hear a thud like you dropped a shelf on the floor. I called for you but you didn’t answer, so… I may have hurt your lock. Sorry. But when I got in, you were just… passed out on the ground. Did something happen?” He ignored her question, focusing on what she had said at the beginning.

“Three days? I was just in here this morning…” He looked up at her, utterly bemused. 

“Huh? No, Five, you’ve been in here for three days. Did… Five, have you slept? Or eaten??” 

“I— no. Wait. Three days?” Allison’s face softened, the worry still palpable. 

“Oh, Five…” If he was more awake, he would have stiffened at how she looked at him; her gaze was that of a worried mother, not of a younger sibling. At this point, though, it was all he could do to not crumple like a rag doll when she let go of his back, straightening up. “Listen, I’ll be right back, okay? Just…” He silently dared her to say ‘don’t move.’ Maybe the rage would be enough to get him up and moving. She pressed her lips together as if hearing his silent challenge. “I’ll… be right back.” She turned on her heel and hurried from the room, glancing back at him one last time before closing the door behind her. Letting out a sigh, he let himself slowly slump forward, elbows resting on his thighs and hands cradling his face. His side hurt. His eyes hurt. What had she meant, three days? He’d only been up here… since last, night? Yeah. Thursday night. Yes, he’d had to adjust his lamp a few times while he was writing, but that was just because of clouds outside, wasn't it? Surely not the setting of the sun. Right? How could he have lost…

“Five?” He blinked. Allison was before him again. Hadn’t she just left? “You there?”

“Huh?” How had she gotten there so fast? She’d surely gone to the kitchen; she was carrying things she definitely didn’t have with her before she left. But how…?

“You okay? You were spacing out…” Spacing out? No, he’d been watching the door… but then how had he not seen her come in and sit with him?

He swallowed, unease building in his stomach as he shook his head slightly, raising it from his hands. At least he seemed a bit more alive now. “Yeah. I’m fine.” She didn’t look convinced, but she still dropped her gaze to the items in her hands.

“I, uh, brought some food. Vanya made you a sandwich. And water. I mean, I know you like coffee, but if you haven’t drank anything for that long, I mean…” She pressed her lips together again, cutting herself off, before holding out the sandwich and glass. It took Five a moment to get his damn arms to move, but he slowly accepted the offerings. The water trembled in the glass as he held it, slowly taking a sip as he set down the plate; it was cool and welcome against his tongue. How had he not realized how parched he was?

“Thank you,” he murmured, setting aside the glass. Yes, the water was good, but something inside him was screaming, all alarm bells ringing. Something was wrong and he didn’t know  _ what _ . How had he lost days locked in here? How had he not noticed? Was he losing it? Or, worse yet, was someone else fucking with his time again; not the Handler, for sure, but some other godforsaken excuse for a human that the agency had spawned? No, he was the only one who knew where he was. He had made damn sure of that. But then… was it just him? Was he losing it? 

“Five!” His head snapped to Allison’s voice, which was… right in front of him? When had she moved? She was crouching before him, hands on his shoulders, face uncomfortably close to her own. 

“What?” he snapped, flinching back. 

“What do you mean, what? I was trying to talk to you and you just… poof! Spaced out again!” She sighed, the sound as tense as her shoulders. “Five,  _ please _ talk to me. Are you okay?” He opened his mouth to reply heatedly, that of course he was okay, he was always okay, now would she be so kind as to  _ please _ let go of him?— and then paused. ...No. No, this was not okay. He was… he was losing time. Time he had fought so valiantly to earn back, had sacrificed so much to gain. He was skipping through it, blind to its passing by, and that  _ wasn’t _ okay.

“I… no. I don’t think so.” Allison seemed surprised that he had admitted it, and she hesitated for a moment before seeming to gather herself.

“...Alright.” She sat back on her heels, releasing Five. “Then I want to see you eat something, okay? Just eat some of the sandwich, and we can work from there.” Dutifully, he nodded, picking up the sandwich and biting into it. Vanya’s handiwork for sure; it tasted the same as it had when he was a kid, when they sneaked into the kitchen at night to create these sugary monstrosities away from the prying eyes of the others. Lost in the memories, he hardly noticed how much he’d eaten until there was hardly any left. Taking a last bite, he had barely finished swallowing before Allison was helping him up. “Sit down, alright? You need to sleep.” At this, he frowned. 

“I don’t want to sleep, I just woke up from being unconscious down there—” 

“Five, you haven’t slept in days. Unconscious isn’t the same as asleep. We can talk later, okay? Just… please get some rest.” At her words, a wave of exhaustion he hadn’t previously noted washed over him. Had she brought this on? No, he needed to figure out what was happening. He needed to find answers. He needed to…

His eyes slipped closed. The last thing he felt was Allison pulling a blanket over him and smoothing his hair beneath her hands, a soft sigh echoing around the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Klaus's chapter is coming up next.


	4. Klaus; or, Ghosts and Journals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Klaus isn't the only one in the Hargreeves household who sees ghosts anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! Just as a warning, this chapter does deal with some unreality, so please be careful if that's a potential trigger. Five is also a bit of an unreliable narrator here.

Klaus wasn’t the only one who saw ghosts in the Hargreeves household anymore.

If Five made a list of the top five situations he never wanted his siblings to find him, it would be hard to sift through what deserved a place. He didn’t want them to have to see him committing senseless murder to get back to them; he wouldn’t want them to see him when he was at his worst in the apocalypse, in those periods of time where his already tenuous grip on reality would shatter like a thrown china plate, where if he wasn’t laughing and talking to them he was screaming.

Yeah, that would be bad. But this was a new top of the list: alone, in their father’s study, screaming at the dead. That would be a tough one to recover from.

He had just been searching through Reginald’s desk, trying to find any more of the old dog’s notebooks, the journals where he had jotted down results of test after test of their powers. What better way to help Vanya than to actually learn more about what Hargreeves had discovered? Small doubts had been nagging at his mind as he rummaged through the drawers.  _ What if you can't help Vanya? What if this is all for nothing? What if the Temps Commission comes again? Will you be able to stop them? Will you be able to save them? Will the earth burn again? _

Jerking his head up at the last unpleasant thought, he snapped, “Of course it won't. I'm here to  _ stop _ that.”

_ But what if you can't? You failed before. _ Shaking his head, he looked back down at the drawer he was rustling through. “I know I can. We have this figured out. I just… We have to figure out what she can do and go from there. Same thing that we did for Ben.

_ Ben died. _

“Oh, shut up,” he muttered, scowling. 

_ What if she explodes again? What do you do then? What if it's your fault? _

Frustrated, he slammed his hand down on the shelf he was searching through, glaring up at Delores. “You know, you used to be nice. Could you try to be a bit supportive here?” Grumbling, he pulled out a book, flipping through the pages. “I'm trying to help. You're being rude.”

_ I'm being realistic. You're the one relying on false hope.  _ Nothing in the book but notes on some mechanical contraption. With a sigh, he tossed it aside and stood, turning to the shelves behind him. Footsteps sounded softly on the floorboards, meandering towards him. 

_ And besides, what good will your help do? You were trapped there for 30 years. And then… what? _ He stiffened at Ben's words, lip curling in disdain. 

“It's rude to bring that stuff up, you know.”

_ And after, you went around, killing people for a good 15 years of your life. And now you want to save lives?  _

“Shut up,” Five snapped, whipping his head around. At the sight that greeted him, he couldn't help but raise his metaphorical haunches, stiffening and glaring at the man before him.

Lounging on the desk behind him was Luther, burnt and sneering at him with a half-decomposed scowl.  _ What happens if we all die again, huh? What happens if it's your fault? _ After a moment of staring at his brother in disbelief, anger swelled inside him, breaking from the stupor of surprise that had set in; what right did Luther have to question him? 

“As if you know what you're doing either, asshole!” he seethed, stepping towards the desk. “At least I'm  _ trying!  _ At least it's not my fault that the world almost blew up in the first place!” Whirling around, he threw up his hands, stalking away. The blur of the room around him as he spun was enough to make him stagger slightly, and he had to take a deep breath before he could speak again. His lungs felt unreasonably tight. “Besides, maybe if I can just get some more information, Vanya can—”

_ Vanya can what? Go through more testing? Accidently kill us all? Blow up the world again?  _ When he turned back, Allison was staring at him, disdain dropping from her voice like the blood from her face. He watched as she idly ran her hand through her singed hair, the bones in the back of her wrist flexing with her movements.  _ It'll be your fault.  _ He could feel how unsteady his breathing was as he stared at his obviously dead sibling. Why was he so dizzy? 

“No. I'm going— I'm going to save her,” he finally spat out. 

_ And if you don't?  _ Klaus asked, glassy eyes following him as he stepped back uncertainty.  _ It'll be your fault if we all die again. Your fault for leaving then. Your fault for staying now.  _

Five felt himself bump into the bookshelf behind him roughly, and he stumbled, unable to catch himself before his legs slipped out from under him and he landed hard. Dust and crumbled stone rained down on him from his collision with the bookshelf, and he watched as Klaus stood, sniffing back the blood leaking from his nose.  _ What if nothing changes? What if you end up there again? What if? _ Klaus stepped forward, and Five heard the floorboards creak beneath his foot. At that, panic seized him; he had watched all this time as if in a dream, a nightmare in which his siblings were dead once more. Now, though, a sudden, horrible wave of reality gripped him; he flinched back as his dead brother stepped closer.  _ What if you fail again? _

“I— I'm not—”

_ What if I die again, huh? What if we all die? What if you're all alone again? _ As his brother stepped closer, he squeezed his eyes shut, feeling his breath seize in his lungs. Involuntarily, his hands rose to cover his ears, to block the sound of death stepping closer, to block out reality coming to slap him in the face. Words were coming out of his mouth (were they really? he couldn't hear them at all), but still, Klaus's voice continued:  _ Will you let me die? Will you be alone? Will we burn again? Five? Five? Five!  _ A wordless scream ripped from his throat, and clammy hands seized his wrists. 

At the contact, he pushed himself back, legs kicking something and propelling him away from Klaus. The wall hit him on either side, and he realized with the quality of a nightmare that he was literally cornered. How had this happened? He had just been looking for a journal, and then, and then, and then— what?  _ What? _

The hands wrapped around his wrists again, and he nearly howled as he tried to wrench away from them. His wrists were forced away from his ears, and he heard Klaus say, “Five, hey, it's me, okay?” His breath was hot against his ear. Did corpses have hot breath? He didn't know; back in the apocalyptic earth,  _ everything _ was hot. “It's me, it's okay.” His wrists were released, but moments later, tight pressure encircled him, warm and solid. He seemed to lose control of his body at the contact; his thrashing froze as if his brain had hit the pause button, and his eyes flew open. His breath rushed out of him in a forceful exhalation, and he couldn't seem to make himself move again. Klaus was hugging him. Not dead Klaus, judging from the warmth of his arms; not dead Klaus, judging from the weird mix of perfume and cologne. Not dead Klaus, judging from the murmurs in his ear of reassurance that dead Klaus had never bothered to give. 

What had he been doing again? 

Slowly, as if he were rusty clockwork, his arms bent to grasp at Klaus's sweater. Clutching the soft fabric of his brother's shirt like a lifeline (he could feel his heart beneath his knuckles, alive, alive,  _ alive) _ , his head slowly dropped until his forehead was resting on Klaus's shoulder. The world was blurry; his eyes felt hot. What had he been doing? Where was he again? Reality felt superimposed, as if when he looked up again he would see burning trees inside Reginald's study, would see corpses made of scattered books and papers. Water was dripping from his eyes. He was shaking. Why was he shaking? Why did he feel so small? 

Klaus slowly pulled back, arms unwrapping enough that he could look Five in the face. “Five?” He couldn't make his breath work right, couldn't create a sound. He hoped that focusing his eyes on Klaus's brow would be enough. “Oh, Five—” A hand rose to his cheek, gently brushing against his skin, drying it. Drying it from what? “Five, hey, it's just me, okay? Just me. Okay? You here with me?” After a moment, Five jerked his head down in a rough nod. “Okay. Okay, just breathe, okay? I'm here.” 

Already, he could feel his mental walls slamming into place again, foundation shaken but still holding true, allowing him to regain some control over his body. He couldn't… parse what had just happened. He didn’t understand. He had been looking for the journal. He had been looking for the journal, and then… Luther. No. And then the corner? No, no, that wasn't right. 

“Hey, hey, Five, I need you to talk to me, bud, alright?” Klaus patted him lightly on the cheek, perhaps to regain his attention. “You okay?” 

“I…” He paused. What? Was he okay? He… Yes. Of course. 

“What happened? I, uh, I heard you… screaming?” His voice trailed off in that odd little cadence he had always possessed, the twist in his voice that sounded like he was about to cry even when he was most likely apathetic about the situation. It caught Five's mind and held it; that odd little bite of reality was enough to spur slow words out of him.  

“I… I was looking for a journal. Dad’s journal. The other one. And…” What had happened? Why was there a gap in his memory? Why didn't he  _ know _ why? “...Delores was here.” No, he had heard Ben, hadn't he? “No. Ben.”

“What about Ben?” Klaus asked, confusion evident in his tone. 

“He… we talked. And then it was Luther…” Klaus shot a look to the side, apparently listening to something beyond Five's hearing. 

“Five, Ben was with me. He came in when I did.”

“But you came in after Allison,” Five mumbled, confused. How had that happened? He was positive he'd seen them both, and yet that made no sense; and yet, none had left; and yet, and yet, and yet. “But you were… dead?” Why couldn't he understand? 

“Hey, Five, look at me.” When had his gaze slipped? Both of Klaus's hands cradled his cheeks, directing his gaze to the concerned face of his brother. “I'm not dead, alright? I'm healthy as a horse. Well, a recovering addict horse, but still. And hey. I'm the only one here allowed to see dead people, got that?” He waited for Klaus to say more. “...Hey. Let's… Let's go get some lunch, okay?” Without waiting for Five's answer, he stood, taking Five's hands in his own and pulling him up. “Alright. One foot in front of the other, c'mon.”

Why did he feel so… small? He had been functioning perfectly fine, hadn't he? He was just… just what? His brain was finally catching up to speed, and it was awful; had he seen the dead again? Oh, he had thought he'd left that behind, had thought that those visions that were all too real had been left in the apocalypse with the bodies of his family. So much for recovery. So much for moving on.

They were in the kitchen before he fully realized where they were. It was blessedly empty, and Klaus guided him to a chair before stepping to the pantry. Five watched as Klaus rummaged through the shelves of food, mumbling to himself and tossing stuff deemed unworthy of consumption to the floor behind him. Finally, though, Five found the strength to speak, staring down at the table beneath him.

“Do you think I'm crazy?” He wouldn't blame Klaus if he did. They both knew the effect time travel could have on the mind; it was a fact obvious to both of them that something had unhinged in both of their minds, though of how big of a something it was neither was sure. But this was more than that; this was beyond what could be borne of exposing oneself to the hellish in-between layers of the universe. He had seen what that brand of insanity was like, had learned from Cha Cha and Hazel what ages of skipping time and causing deaths could do. This was different, and he and Klaus both knew it.

Klaus paused in his searching, then sighed, slowly turning and pulling up a chair across from Five. Five stared at the grains of wood beneath him, tracing them gently with his finger, unwilling to see whatever pity or disgust would be adorning his siblings face. When Klaus spoke, though, it was gentle, understanding.

“I think that you’re traumatized, Five.” Another sigh, as if Klaus was searching for the right words to say. “I don’t… I don’t know what your life was like then. I don’t know what being… alone for that long did. I can’t imagine what it would do to me. But I know that it was rough, and frightening, and that… well, anyone would be traumatized after all of that. I don’t think that… I think that it’s okay to be traumatized, and to admit it. Y’know?” His words were rambling, as if they were trying to twist themselves away from the main point. Five waited. Eventually, he felt Klaus’s hand land softly atop his, stopping its tracing of the swirling oak. “I don’t know if you’re crazy, Five. But I know that I’m here for you. Okay? I know what trauma is. Hell, we all do. And I know that it affects all of us differently. You went through a  _ hell _ of a lot more than us, and I know that that’s bound to be hell on anyone’s mental state. I don’t know if you’re crazy, Five, but I definitely don’t blame you if you are. But we’re here for you.  _ I’m _ here for you.” There it was, that odd quaver at the tail of his sentence that had always made Five so unsure what his brother was feeling. The sincerity in Klaus’s voice was enough to finally convince him to look up. To his surprise, Klaus’s face was without a trace of humour, his eyes shining with… unshed tears? Did Klaus really care that much? 

“...Thank you, Klaus.” It felt like that wasn’t enough to say. He didn’t know what else  _ to  _ say. But Klaus smiled at him, warm and sincere, and Five felt the tense knot in his heart ease somewhat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not quite sure what to do for Chapter 5-- perhaps Grace? Hmm.


	5. Grace; or, Silence and Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, the world was too much. Sometimes, though, the world fell silent. That was the worst of all. At least Grace is there to help.

Sometimes, the world was too much. 

How could it not be, really? The first time he had been taken by the Handler to a new place, he had almost fell to his knees in shock; everything was so loud, so fast. It had been a minute before he could even properly move; he had just… shut down in the face of new input, input he hadn’t been witness to for three decades. He had thought he would never get used to the hustle of normal life, of other people aside from Delores; it took time before he could even stand to leave Headquarters without wanting to covers his ears and hide away. Sometimes, the world was so, so much; so much sound and action and colour and everything that his world had lacked. It was too much, at times; sometimes, he thought he was going to go crazy, locked in a world that was simply too overpowering in its ordinary, everyday action.

Sometimes, though, the world fell silent. That was the worst of all. 

For years upon years, he had lived in a world untouched, motionless, silent. The only sounds were his voice and Delores’s; the rest of the Earth remained completely still, as absent of sound and movement as it was of life. Sometimes, when he had been there, all he could hear was his heartbeat; he could see it shaking the earth, blowing the dust around him, dislodging rubble from its long-fallen resting place. Everything around him would echo the sound of his heart, and all he could hear in response was Delores’s soft murmurs, reassurances that he would be alright, he just had to keep walking, keep writing, keep  _ trying _ . But when it was truly quiet, when Delores fell silent, when he listened as hard as he could to no avail, when it seemed even his own breath had stopped in a futile attempt to elicit a response from the rest of the world-- when it was truly quiet, he had felt his loneliness more acutely than ever before, felt as though there would never be hope again for him. When it was quiet, his world-- not just the earth around him, but the carefully constructed one of plans and equations and hope-- felt like it was falling to pieces around him more than ever.

Now, when the world went quiet around him, he felt as if he were being transported back there, as if any moment he would blink and reopen his eyes to see dust and rubble strewn around him. Just another dream of a better life. Just another wish to see his family. After the Handler had come, he hadn’t had a moment of silence; everything was so loud, so fast and vibrant and  _ alive _ . The thought that he would never get a moment of silence again was, while mostly awful, the smallest bit reassuring. Even when everything became too much, he found himself hoping quietly, almost shamefully, that he would never experience the lack of sound around him again.

It seemed he still hadn’t learned how cruel the hand of fate was.

And how ironic, too; it had struck him in the silliest of places. How silly that out of all the places for his world to fall silent, it would be in the middle of everything loud in his life. 

The restaurant was busy, crowded; for perhaps the first time since… everything, really, Allison had used her charm to wrangle them a seat in the back, to get thim extra space around their table. While the others had been checking their menus, she had leaned over and whispered to Five with a guilty giggle that she figured she may as well keep her powers tuned, albeit only with the most harmless things she could think of. It was a good idea in Five’s eyes; they never knew when her ability would save or cost them their lives-- or at least a good chunk of flesh. 

Five was… slightly uncomfortable. It wasn’t at the fact that they were eating out; they had ended up going to the local Shari’s on more than one occasion when they were all too tired to scrounge up actual food and Allison had decided that they weren’t allowed to starve from sheer laziness. No, it was more the fact that they were acting almost like a real family. Yes, they had an extra place set out that everyone took care not to bump into; yes, there was an air of tension around them that never quite dissipated no matter how comfortable they were with each other. Yet despite this, they were talking and chattering and laughing with each other, something Five had never really seen in this strange family. It was… it was nice. Still, though, Five felt slightly out of place, and instead of focusing on conversation, elected to scan through his menu. He already knew he would get the same thing he had ordered every other time he came; however, it was a nice excuse to politely ignore the conversation around him. 

It was funny, almost, how easily it was set off; his mind really had never been one for slow tricks. One moment, he was setting down his menu, gazing out the window through Ben’s spot; the next, everything seemed to be fading away, as if being dragged away from him. Slowly, he realized that although he could see his family moving around him, their merry chatter had silenced; if he couldn’t see Luther’s shoulders shaking with laughter beside Diego, he would have thought that the Handler was somehow back, freezing time to bring him back to work. No, that wasn’t the case; it was as if his ears had been plugged with wax, as if the rest of the earth was on a different radio frequency. Everyone was speaking on FM while he was hopelessly trying to pick up AM waves; the only thing he could hear was his heart beating unevenly in his chest, shaking his vision, shaking the chair beneath him, shaking the water in it' glasses on the table beneath his hands. His eyes felt glued to the window; his mouth felt dry As the dust he could almost feel swirling around him. As he sat, frozen, even the sound of his heart beating seemed to fade away; slowly, the unsteady drumming of his blood drew further and further away until, with a jolt of melancholy shock, he realized that everything had fallen completely silent, as if someone had hit the mute button on all of earth.

Oh.

As if released by floodgates, all of the hopelessness he had thought years behind him seemed to rush up and swallow him whole; suddenly, though he could faintly see his siblings moving around him, he could swear that the earth was frozen again. It was like waking from a dream into a nightmare; he felt suddenly and horribly unsure that this was real. Was it? How could it be, with everything so quiet, so far removed? It was as if he were back in the wastelands, staring at the sky as everything fell oppressively silent in his ears; through the window, he could see the midnight blue sky, and for a brief moment, felt a wave of deja vu wash over him. Yes, he had lived this before, lived this many times; he had experienced this silent earth more times than his traumatized mind could bear to recall. It had never been this bright after the world ended, but perhaps his mind was just finding new ways to trick him. Logic had been shoved aside, had splintered i to a million sharp pieces in his head; logic had no place in the world of confused panic he had found himself in. Perhaps the vision of things moving faintly wasn't real at all. Perhaps he would blink and the silence would remain as everything else left, everything he had worked so hard for, equations and people and numbers and feeling falling apart into a jumble of strewn pieces around him like the rubble of his home.

“Five?” 

The word broke through the silence, somehow filtering into his deaf ears as if from miles away. Suddenly, it all rushed back in, all of the sound and movement and  _ everything  _ all at once. He could feel his fingers digging into the table, knuckles straining at the pressure. His head jerked to the left; Klaus was staring at him with concern, head bent to keep his words private. The others were still talking, frighteningly loud in his ears, their voices filling up the space like water in a holding tank. “Five? Are you okay?” His eyes danced over Klaus’s face without any real recognition; he took in scrunched eyebrows, a bitten lip, a worried frown without fully recognizing it as emotion on the face of another human. Everything was so loud. Everything had been so gone, and he had felt like he was in a void of his own creation, but now, now, now he was being assaulted on all fronts. It was so  _ much. _ It was as if he could feel all the noise in his bones, rattling in his skill, reverberating through his teeth as he tried desperately to inhale. How could everything go from one extreme to the other so fast? Everything had been so quiet, a void of sound, and now it was as if an explosion of sound was accompanying every movement, every word, every laugh. How was this possible? How could--

“Oh, Five, shit,” Klaus murmured, a hand raising to cover his mouth as if in sorrow. What? There was wetness on his face, stinging his eyes-- Oh. Oh. He couldn’t even move, couldn’t raise his hand to check. Why wasn’t his body working?  _ Why wasn’t he working?  _ The others were beginning to notice, head swinging around as Five’s red eyes danced over Klaus’s face like oil through water, trying desperately to catch hold but slipping. 

Oh. Oh no.

Unable to move, unable to think past the onslaught of noise, the attack of sound after the absence, he simply blinked from existence-- a grain of sand slipping through splayed fingers.

\--

His room rematerialized around him, blessedly, hellishly quiet. It was minutes before he could move; he felt frozen in time, stuck staring at his wall, eyes still tracing the outline of Klaus’s face even though his brother had been left at the restaurant. Finally, though, his joints began to move, like a rusty automaton coming back after years of disservice; slowly, so slowly, his hand raised to his mouth, covering it in an unintentional mirror of Klaus just minutes before, other hand tangling in his hair as his knees drew up to his chest. Why wasn’t he working? Why wasn’t he  _ working?  _ A low, pitiful keening noise rose in his throat as hot tears spilled onto his face, and he let his head fall to his knees, eyes still wide open in shock. A sob shook him, quiet but for the hiccup it made in his failure of a scream; his hand almost spasmed as he gripped his hair, nails digging at his scalp. The feeling of vulnerability was so  _ wrong _ , so foreign and unexpected; he didn't remember what it was like to actually cry, to be so emotionally shaken that he actually showed cracks in his hard façade. Five was stuck, shaking and clutching himself, tears rolling down his face as he silently sobbed. To think, something as simple as silence could hurt him more than bullets, more than knives; he could handle pain and loss, but the silence was a tunnel to his past, a portal worse than any he could conjure.

When his door swung open, he couldn't even find it in himself to jump away; he felt stuck in place, rusted to the spot. The soft tapping of heels was almost inaudible to his panicked mind, but it was enough to keep him from flinching away when smooth, artificially warm arms wrapped around him. Unable to resist, he let Grace pull him close, shifting beneath him until he was leaning against her shoulder. 

“Oh, Five, what's wrong? I thought you want out with the others.” At the sound of her voice, another shuddering sob shook his frame, and he couldn't help but curl closer to her. God, she sounded so much like Delores; her hands, unmarked by any fingerprints, were as smooth against his skin as Delores's ever had been. He felt her shift against him, and a moment later, a gentle hand slipped beneath his, fingers softly lifting his away from his scalp. “Are you alright? I'm here for you.” 

The words were enough to break the dam; with a choked sob, he let out a thin wail of anguish, throwing his arms around her and burying his face in her neck. He barely noticed as she ran her fingers through his hair, pulling him onto her lap so he could better curl against her. Waves of misery washed through him, threatening to drag him under, but Grace held him tight, perfectly manicured nails carding through his hair, a hand rubbing his back soothingly. Tears stained the lace hem of her collar, but she continues murmuring to him, reassurances that he couldn't make out through the haze of sobs and miserable confusion. It had been so long, so so long since he had actually allowed grief to permeate his sense of purpose; ages had passed since he had allowed tears to be shed, to push through the mask of apathy and indifference that had been in place for ages. It was terrible, a well-oiled machine brought down by a rock in the gears. It was cathartic, pressure being released from something about to explode. It was shameful; it was a blessed relief. 

Eventually, his sobbing trailed off into painful hiccuping, stifled as he tried desperately to regain his composure. Grace pulled back slightly, eyes scanning him with warmth he had never thought possible from a machine. Sniffing, he mumbled, “Did I ever tell you how much… you remind me of Delores, Mom?” A smile graced her lips.

“How's that?” Shifting so he could lean against her comfortably in her arms, he sighed, arms still wrapped around her. 

“You're both so… kind. Warm. Caring…” He sniffed again, remembering her lovely painted on face. “You sound so much like her. She was all I had.”

“Well, you have us now, Five. All of your family.” He could have sworn he heard a touch of genuine emotion in her perfectly modulated voice, sad yet caring. “I'm here for you, dear.” Her hand continued combing through his hair, gentle and methodical. “She sounds lovely.”

“...She was.” Her arms tightened around him, pulling him against her. Tears welled up again in his eyes as she murmured, “I may not be her, but I will always be here. I am your mother, after all.” She really was, wasn't she? She may not have been flesh and bone, but she had been a mother to him, to all of them; she had held him like this the first time he had been in a body like this, had hugged him close as he sobbed, terrified. She had been the one to take care of him after missions and training, her honeyed voice soothing trauma after trauma, her smooth hands patching up cuts and bruises and so much worse. 

“Thank you, Mom,” he murmured, letting his head fall back against the crook of her neck. The fear of the silence returning still clutched his mind, and he forced himself to listen to the soft humming of machinery beneath her skin, warming her and allowing her to continue brushing through his hair. He expected her to shift him aside so she could leave and get back to whatever she had been doing, but she just began humming softly, an old tune he remembered from then they were kids. Gentle as it was, it filled the air around him, chasing away the threat of silence falling once again. As he finally began to breathe, despite the tears still slipping down his face, it occurred to him that perhaps, just maybe, she felt actual love for them. Why else would she stay like this, holding him despite the lack of necessity? 

And really, why else would she stay long after he had fallen asleep in her arms, still humming to fill the silence and stroking his hair? Why else would she gently shoo the others out of his room when they came back home, murmuring that he was alright? Why else would she stay, despite her low battery, until well after the sun had come up, choosing not to wake him but instead to continue holding him like he was a child once more? What reason other than love did she have?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! I wanted to keep chapter numbers with characters, so this worked out.


	6. Ben; or, Nightmares and Daydreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nightmares always come back, but sometimes, better things return too. Ben is definitely one of the better things in Five's life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for taking so long! I'm on vacation, and I've also been consumed by The OA's season 2, so I'm writing some stuff for that right now. I'll try to update one more thing during this week, but I'll be pretty busy, so I apologize if I don't I'm still fairly active on tumblr, though, so feel free to contact me there. :) Hope you enjoy!

It was apparently an interesting night for more than one member of the Hargreeves household. 

For Five, at least, interesting wasn’t even close to covering the hell he was going through. Perhaps ‘absolutely fucking abysmal’ was closer to covering his experience as he stared at his dead brother in fear, clawed hands drawing blood from thin lines on his neck as he desperately tried not to scream.

—

He was back in the apocalypse.

That much was clear to him; why else would there be rubble strewn around him, burning and covering the remains of what used to be his city, his home? Even the library he stood before was demolished; he could barely see the gilded letters of the sign beneath the rubble and destruction. The smell of smoke was heavy; it burned his lungs, burned his eyes, weighed upon his tongue with its acrid bitterness.

Ash swirled around him, snow from the end of the world. A flake of it landed on his nose as he stared in shock at the ruined city before him, burning like a drop of hot oil on his skin until it was blown away by a soft gust of wind. The falling pieces swirled in the air before him, obscuring his vision almost as much as the smoke. How did he get here? Hadn't he stopped it from happening? He had worked so hard, done everything he could — how had the earth still fallen?

Panic shot through his veins, and he gasped for air, only to choke on the heavy clouds of smoke surrounding him. The bitter haze filled his lungs, burning his throat, settling in his lungs like heavy coals. With a wheeze, he coughed, trying to expel the disgusting air, he could feel it sticking to the insides of his lungs like black tar, burning and festering inside him. He couldn’t breathe; he couldn’t think, couldn’t feel anything other than panic. As he choked on the substance stuck inside his throat-- god, is this what Allison had felt like?--his frantic brain could only think that this was his fault. He had failed again, he had let the world burn just as he had 45 years ago, just as he had tried for decades to prevent. This was his fault. 

The taste of smoke burned his tongue as his hands rose to claw at his throat, desperate for a single breath, desperate for another chance. The falling ash looked like static on a television screen, white and grey and black and burning like smatterings of fire against his skin where it landed. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t take in a single gasp for air, but somehow, a scream managed to push through the tar in his throat. The burning world flickered to black as the piercing noise rang through the air, pressing on his eardrums like spiked mallets.

He shot up in his bed, this scream cutting off as his hands flew up to clench at his throat, short nails digging into the pale skin of his neck. His throat felt tight, like smoke was still ruminating in his body, as if he were still in the center of all the wreckage. For a moment, he was able to tell himself that it was alright, he was in his bed, he would be able to breathe soon.

That plan went to shit as soon as he saw his dead brother beside his bed, glowing blue and standing over him with concern on his face.

Another thin scream, more a hoarse rasp than a shout, escaped him as he kicked himself up the bed, back hitting the wall with a painful thud. “Oh shit — Five?” 

Okay. He was crazy. Or maybe the apocalypse had happened? Maybe Klaus had struck a deal with whatever devils he saw on his LSD trips and given Five his powers. No, that was even more improbable. 

“Five, calm down, you’re not crazy, okay? Nothing happened.” Oh fuck. He swallowed thickly, his throat clenching painfully as he stared at Ben, wide-eyed, fingers still digging into his throat. Okay. He was definitely crazy. That was the only explanation for the fact that he was seeing Ben, still feeling as if he couldn’t breathe, still feeling trapped. He was seeing Ben because he had finally lost it. He’d had a good run, done his fair share in life, but something had finally unscrewed. Too much time travel, maybe, or too much trauma. Something had unstuck in his head, and now he was seeing the dead. There was only room for one Klaus in this house; how rude of him to join his brother in his own insanity. 

“Dude, you gotta calm down, okay?” Ben stepped closer, a knee sinking onto his mattress. Five  _ felt _ the mattress dip down towards him, and with a strangled yelp, flinched back. Oh god. If he was seeing Ben, was he going to see the people he had killed next? Was he going to be faced with the bloody corpses of his previous marks, commissioned by the Commission for death? He could feel the breath struggling to get into his lungs, could barely manage to get oxygen past his tight throat. Was he still breathing in the smoke? “Shit, hey, hey, Five — ” He blinked, and Ben was directly before him. Worried eyes flitted over his face, and he felt himself freeze. The ghost of his dead brother seemed to hold his breath as he slowly raised his hands, bringing them to Five’s. They were slightly cold against his feverish skin, but the touch was still there, solid and real. Gently, Ben grasped his hands, pulling his nails away from the flesh of his neck and bringing his arms in front of him. “It’s okay, Five. You can breathe. They’re not dead. Just breathe for me, okay?” 

For a moment, Five heard a child’s voice overlapping Ben’s own, the words repeating from ages past. As if he had been waiting for permission from his brother, he slowly sucked in a breath, forcing oxygen to his lungs. “Good. Just keep breathing, okay? Keep breathing for me. Just like when we were kids, c’mon.” Was  _ he _ dead? Was that why he was seeing Ben, feeling Ben’s hands on his? “No, no, you’re — you’re not dead, Five, I promise. Keep breathing, alright? You can do it.” He nodded, head jerking up and down minutely.

The next minutes were agony; his eyes wouldn’t focus on any aspect of Ben’s glowing face, flitting about ike anxious birds trying to find a place to land. Ben continued holding his hands, murmuring softly to him. Finally, Five felt as if he could breathe; though the pain and fear still ran through his veins, the smoke of his vision — his dream? — seemed to have left his lungs. Releasing a hand, Ben reached up to push Five’s hair back out of his eyes; for the first time, Five noticed the slight tremor in his brother’s hand. “Are you okay?”

Five swallowed, before breathing out, “Is… How? How, I don’t, Klaus isn’t — ” Cutting himself off, he gripped Ben’s hand tight in his own, the other coming up to grip Ben’s shoulder. He could feel cool fabric beneath his fingers, soft against his palms. Looking desperately to Ben for an answer, he felt his heart fall when Ben shook his head. 

“I don’t know either. I think… he was probably having a bad dream. His hands were… y’know. Glowing and shit.” Confusion bloomed in Five’s upset mind; why would Ben leave Klaus for  _ him? _

“Because you were the one screaming.” Had he said that out loud? Delores had always responded to his thoughts when he was upset; perhaps he really was a bit… unscrewed. Shaking off that unpleasant thought, he focused back on Ben, leaning slightly into the feeling of his brother’s cool touch on his temple, where Ben’s hand rested with fingers combing through Five’s hair. He had always done that when they were children, hadn’t he?

“Thank you,” he murmured, squeezing Ben’s hand again. From Ben’s soft sigh, he guessed that being able to comfort his sibling again was a relief to Ben; having already experienced longing for one’s family when they were dead, he could only imagine how hard it must be to yearn to live with them again when they were right in front of you, oblivious to your existence.

“Always, Five.” After a moment, Ben leaned forward, still holding Five’s hand but dropping his other arm to wrap it around Five. He froze at the feeling of pressure around him, and Ben immediately pulled back, looking crestfallen. “Shit, I’m sorry — I forgot — ” Cutting off his brother, Five released Ben’s hand and threw both of his arms around him, trembling as he buried his face in Ben’s hoodie. After a moment, Ben embraced him again, the pressure from his ghostly arms grounding and comforting. Five could swear he felt Ben’s shoulders shaking beneath his face, but he did him the courtesy of ignoring the fact. He was sure Ben would do the same for him.

—

When he woke the next morning in an uncomfortable heap on his bed, it was a moment before he realized that Klaus was standing over him, poking his arm. “Five, get up, Allison said she’d take us out to Griddy’s. Are you dead?” With a groan, Five batted away his hand, opening his eyes to glare at his brother. 

“I much prefer waking up and seeing Ben, so piss off.” Confusion clouded Klaus’s face, erasing the shit-eating grin it had held as he roused Five from sleep.

“What do you mean? Mom always woke us up.” 

“What? No. Last night, ask Ben.” He nodded at the empty space beside Klaus that his brother’s eyes had flickered to when he mentioned Ben’s name. After a moment, Klaus furrowed his brow.

“Ben stayed in my room last night, Five. ...Are you okay?” He felt a sickening swoop in his stomach as Klaus eyed him nervously. 

“I…” He cleared his throat. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m… I’m fine. I’ll meet you guys at Griddy’s.” Leaving no room for argument, he stood, pushing past Klaus and exiting his room. As soon as the bathroom door shut behind him, he exhaled shakily, looking into the mirror as he traced the nail marks along his neck from last night. Ben hadn't been there at all, had he? Had he really imagined seeing his brother again, embracing him for the first time in 45 years? Had he really been that desperate for comfort?

Oh, what a mess he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be real, I was debating writing that last bit... but it gives me the perfect lead-up into next chapter. ;)

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to check out my writing list/update schedule/more of my shenanigans, head on over to @officialfivehargreeves on tumblr. For more fics dealing with Five and his PTSD, please check out the series that this is in. I hope you enjoy.
> 
>  
> 
> PTSD is a difficult thing to deal with. I know that it can feel shameful to not be able to trust your own mind. But I promise you that you aren't alone. If you need to talk to someone, I'm here. There's no shame in your pain, and there's no reason why you should bear your burden alone.


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